


Shortstay(s)

by BastetCG



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Ballet, Comedy, Depressed Victor Nikiforov, Gentleman Victor, M/M, Regency, Regency Romance, Romantic Comedy, Strangers to Lovers, genderfluidity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 16:05:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15867039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BastetCG/pseuds/BastetCG
Summary: It had been an impulsive decision, as most the big decisions in his life were.  On a particularly anxiety-riddled night, Yuuri had convinced himself that he was going to die alone and un-understood, and maybe, just maybe, he’d find a sliver of compassion if he blew his savings on a Jane Austen themed vacation, at the newly created Austenland Resort, “where every novel stay has a happy ending!”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [izzyisozaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyisozaki/gifts).



> This is a super ridiculous "Austenland" AU. If you haven't seen the movie, I highly recommend it! I've tried my best to capture elements of the movie, whiole changing it so it's different and entertaining even if you've already seen it? Also, this fic is completely written already, I'm just polishing it now, posting as I go. Thank you so much to izzyisozaki for the request! I'm so sorry this took so long to get publish :((( But I had a lot of fun writing this and I'm so glad I had the opportunity to write it for you :D  
> ~  
> As a warning Lilia is kind of a bitch in this fic. And there’s a moment in the first chapter where she essentially dismisses Yuuri’s anxiety disorder and confiscates his medication. This becomes relevant later on in the story and is not presented as something that’s okay, but if that’s upsetting to you, feel free to scroll through it or exit out of this fic.

_"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken."_

            Fyodor Dostoyevsky

_"Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance,"_

            Jane Austen

* * *

 

“Yuuri, please please please!”

“It’s too late, Yuuko.  I’ve paid for it, so I have to go.”

“Yuuri!  You!  Your whole savings account!”

Yuuri readjusted his bag on his shoulder.  “It’s going to be worth it,” he tried to reassure.  She pursed her lips but said nothing more as she passed him his carry on.

“I’m going to the Austenland Resort to get his out of my system and carry on with my life.”

“Okay, so the Mr. Darcy cut out is pretty weird, but Yuuri, there’s no guarantee this isn’t some scam to swindle little old ladies out of their hard-earned savings!”

“Well, if it is, won’t that just make me want to leave it behind more?  Now let me go Yuuko.  The security line looks like hell.”

“Text me when you get into Heathrow, okay?”

“Yes, Yuuko.  Give kisses to the triplets for me.”

“And Nishigori.”

“And Nishigori,” Yuuri laughed in response.  She frowned at him for a moment, then flung herself into his already full arms.  “Yuuko!  I have to go!”

“We’ll miss you,” she whispered against his neck.

“I’ll only be gone a month!” he smiled wider than was natural.  “You’ll barely notice I’m gone!”

She stepped back and cocked an eyebrow at him, but kept her mouth shut.

After smoothing out his coat’s lapels and fluffing his scarf back up, she spoke again.  “And you have your meds, just in case?”

“Yeah.  Top pocket.  Now I have to go!”

“Good bye, Yuuri.  Please stay safe.  If you come back with small pox, or…or syphilis!”

“Good bye, Yuuko!” he took a step back and waved.

“And you better not forget to write!”

“Bye, Yuuko!”  This time, he managed to disappear into the crowd crisscrossing behind him.  As he made his way towards the bag check, he tried his best not to think about how sweaty he’d gotten in the last three minutes.

~

It had been an impulsive decision, as most the big decisions in his life were.  On a particularly anxiety-riddled night, he’d convinced himself that he was going to die alone and un-understood, and maybe, just maybe, he’d find a sliver of compassion if he blew his savings on a Jane Austen themed vacation, at the newly created Austenland Resort, “where every novel stay has a happy ending!”

See, Yuuri had an addiction.  Regency novels.  It was…unusual, he recognized that, but God, Austen could tell a story.  To be honest, he didn’t understand how more people weren’t obsessed with her novels.  How could anyone not relate to Emma, or Lizzie?  Or hell, even Elinor!  But whatever, so he had a weird obsession with novels written two hundred years ago.  Some people smoked crack, so to be fair, it wasn’t that bad.  And maybe his collection of Regency era tea cups ran him up a small fortune.  As did the small haberdashery he owned.  And his closet of period costumes.  And okay, _Yes_.  He owned a life-sized cut out of the 1995 PBS rendition of Mr. Darcy in his room, but that was a collector’s item, and Colin Firth looked absolutely sinful in those trousers. And it could have been worse!  It really could have been worse!  It could have made him completely unable to connect with his peers!  It could have given him unrealistic expectations of men!  And!  And!  There was always the fact that it could have left him deeply unsatisfied with the quiet existence he’d carved out in the world!  Ha!  Could you imagine!

 

On the plane, Yuuri chewed his nails down to the quick.

~

“My name’s Phichit!  What’s yours?”

The young man currently thrusting his hand into Yuuri’s was short, dark, and completely calm, if his wide grin was anything to go by.  Yuuri tried to return the smile.

“Yuuri.”

“I’m so excited, I’ve had this vacation booked since I heard about the property.  These British people have the best taste, don’t you think?”

“Uh,” Yuuri closed the coach door, still a little overwhelmed by Phichit’s friendliness, as well as the fact that everyone was staring at them.  The coachman, a tall man with a bleached-blond undercut, took Yuuri’s main bag and stacked it on the pile of luggage already strapped above the mudguard on the back of the carriage.  The coachman gave Yuuri a wink as Phichit kept prattling.

“…if there’s one thing white people got down, it’s that powdered wig and corset look, am I right?”

Yuuri, flustered by the cars honking around them, the people staring, and the unfairly attractive coachman in tight pants, didn’t have the mental capacity to tell Phichit that the powdered wigs would have been out of fashion even for the Regency Era.  Instead, all he managed was an eloquent, “Uh…yeah.”

“I can’t wait to put on all those costumes and take selfies!  Do you think they have a pool?”

The coachman snorted, but he helped Phichit into the carriage without a word.  He winked again as he took Yuuri’s hand and helped him up the steps.  Closing the door, he patted a gloved hand over the edge of the open window.

“We’ll be meeting the Madame at the cottage for your orientation.”  He had a French accent, Yuuri noted.  Phichit seemed to be too busy picking out a filter to pay the comment much mind.

“Thank you,” Yuuri nodded.

“Yeah, thanks!” Phichit grinned. “Hashtag, vay-kay, hashtag, historical hottie.”  He finally looked up from his phone to give the coachman a flirty wave, to which the coachman replied with kiss to the air and a grin.  Phichit tittered.

The coachman took a moment to hop up onto his perch at the front of the carriage, then called over his shoulder, “You will want to hang on.  It gets a little bumpy!”  Then, with a flick of his crop and a slight lurch, they merged into the passing lane and were off!

~

The clock on the wall ticked mercilessly.  Yuuri could feel sweat slicking up his armpits and the backs of his knees, and oh boy, that sure was some dripping down his back.  Phichit was still furiously typing away on his phone.

“It’s all about playing to the algorithms!” he’d explained in the carriage.

Madame Lilia Baron, possibly the most terrifying woman Yuuri had ever seen, all wrapped in lace, was currently staring them down across an ornately carved table, her lips pursed so tightly, Yuuri might have thought they were botoxed that way, if not for the permanent frown lines surrounding them.  The coachman, Chris, as he’d been introduced, stood off her left shoulder, pointedly not making eye contact.

The clock continued to tick.

Madame Baron cleared her throat.  Phichit didn’t seem to notice as he kept tapping on his phone.  Madame Baron blinked slowly, then set her sights on Yuuri.  At a loss, Yuuri whispered Phichit’s name a few times.

“Hmm?”

“She’s waiting on you,” Yuuri muttered.

“Oh shit sorry,” Phichit said in reply.  He locked his phone and placed it on his thigh.

“Right, well, if you’re quite finished—” Madame Baron said with a raised eyebrow.

Phichit’s phone vibrated.  “One second!”  Yuuri thought Madame Baron was going to burst a blood vessel as they both watched Phichit shoot off another text message.  He locked his phone again and grinned.  “You were saying?”

“There will be no items of a modern nature tolerated at the Austenland Resort.  You are to leave anything produced or conceived of after 1840 here, where it will be safely kept until the end of your stay.  That includes your phones and electronic devices, Mr. Chulanont.”

“Like…all of them?” Phichit said, clearly taken off guard.

“All of them,” Madame Baron smiled.  Yuuri had to look away, as it was not a pleasant expression on her face.  “We wish to offer our guests an authentic Regency Period experience.  Unfortunately, this experience does not include the use of electronics.  So.  If you’d kindly place such items in this basket,” she handed them a wicker basket lined with a gingham cloth, “I can get into more details about your stay.”  Phichit fidgeted with his phone.  Yuuri had figured something like this might happen, so he dropped his work phone into the basket.  The Madame didn’t need to know about the personal phone he had tucked away in his sewing supplies, now did she?

“We will be providing toiletries and clothing for you.  You will unlikely need anything in your bags.”  She motioned for Chris to take their bags.

“Um!” Yuuri said making Chris pause and The Madame to turn her sharp eyes on him. “I have my sewing stuff and medication in my bag!  I, uh.  I need those.”

“Sewing stuff.  Such as?”

“Uh, needle, thread, embroidery hoop…”

“You may retrieve those.  However.”  The Madame narrowed her eyes at him.  “What is this medication for?”

Yuuri clenched his teeth and tried to smile.  “Anxiety, Madame.”

“Oh, you won’t be needing that here then,” she waved a hand again, as if to dispel the awkwardness.  “I was concerned you were diabetic or something like that.  Unfortunately, they didn’t have Zoloft in the Regency Period, so you’ll have to leave that here.”

“I—”

“If you want your sewing supplies, I suggest you retrieve them before Chris takes your luggage,” she said.

“A-Alright,” Yuuri kowtowed.  He glanced at Phichit, who seemed just as surprised as he was.  Chris had already moved most of Phichit’s bags to some undisclosed location.  He gave Yuuri an apologetic smile but said nothing as Yuuri rifled through his carry-on to find his sewing kit.  He was tempted to make a grab for his medication, but Madame Baron’s focus followed his fingers.

“Now,” she said when Yuuri sat back down, “on to more pleasant things.  Please fill out these forms, as well as this slip for dresses and coats.”  She slid two thin stacks of parchment across the table, and then produced two quills and vials of ink for them to write with.

~

During the ride from the cottage, Madame Baron had mentioned something about no one wanting moor properties and the windfall from the sale of an old theater.  Yuuri had been too preoccupied watching the patchwork fields of wheat and sheep go by to really pay attention.  As they entered the property, they passed several small lakes, what appeared to be a few tenant houses, and a stable.  As they pulled up to the manor itself, Yuuri couldn’t help but let his eyes go wide with awe.  An unassuming number of footmen and maids lined the entrance stairs, giving Phichit and Yuuri knowing smiles as they exited the carriage.  Yuuri barely had anytime to appreciate the cream-colored brick work or the tall, symmetrically placed windows before The Madame was ushering them inside, newly received waistcoats and all.  Yuuri knew he was going to have four weeks to enjoy the manor and dissect its every detail, but he couldn’t help but tarry behind Phichit and Madame Baron on their way to the drawing room.  A maid announced their presence to the company present, and Phichit and Yuuri awkwardly shuffled their way in after Madame Baron.

“Welcome home, Madame,” an older gentleman with a hand of cards grunted.  His cribbage opponent, a young blond boy slapped a card down on the table and began moving his peg on the board.

“Thank you, Mr. Feltsman.  I have retrieved our final two guests for the next two fortnights.  I’d like to make introductions for Mr. Chulonont and Mr. Katsuki.”  Yuuri and Phichit bowed. “This is my husband, Mr. Feltsman, and my grandson, Master Parcival.”  The older man nodded over his cards, but only Master Parcival rolled his eyes.  “And here is Miss Bakewell, a close acquaintance of the family.  Her estate has the finest gallery this side of the channel.”

“Pleased to meet you,” a beautiful young lady by the window bowed, her pantaloons fitting her a little too well, and her waistcoat cutting lower on the chest than it should.  Her bright red hair seemed out of place among the room’s more muted colors, but Yuuri figured the actors must have been allowed certain personal liberties in their appearance.  “It is not every day we have such agreeable faces to entertain.”

“Oh, I like her,” Phichit whispered.  Madame Baron just harrumphed.

“Miss Yang, another guest we are housing at the moment,” The Madame motioned to a pretty young woman reclining on the couch with a book.

“A pleasure,” she drawled.

“You three shall be sharing a wing for the duration of your stay,” Madame Baron commented.  “Our head butler, Mr. Altin.”

A short man Yuuri hadn’t noticed before stepped forward from his place near Miss Bakewell and gave a perfunctory bow.  Yuuri decided he found the butler intimidating, if only for his stony face.

“Where is Viktor?” The Madame suddenly seemed perturbed.  “Is he doing quibsy again with that dog of his?”

“I’m here, Aunt Lilia,” came a rather bored sounding voice.  Yuuri turned to find its source, and there, in a chair facing another large window, was a man.  He had his back to the room, so Yuuri couldn’t make out his features or stature, but his shoulders were broad, and his hair looked well-maintained.

“Forgive the impropriety of my nephew.  He has not been himself lately,” Madame Baron said with a hint of acid.  “Mr. Nicholson, a rather talented hunter, when he’s not busy wallowing in his estate.”

Mr. Nicholson turned his head, a rather sour expression sullying his features, but despite his mien, Yuuri couldn’t tear his eyes away.

‘This is the Mr. Darcy actor,’ Yuuri’s mind supplied.  Handsome, rich, with connections, but with an aura that kept others at an arm’s length.

“Come greet the rest of our guests, won’t you, Viktor?”

“If I must.”  He stood, as did the dog by his feet.  He was tall, dressed neatly, with a complicated knot tied in his cravat.  Yuuri had to take a deep breath and forcefully avert his eyes.

“And it wouldn’t be a proper greeting without Makkachin, now would it?” The Madame almost cooed.  The dog began wagging her tail and gave a large doggy grin.  Viktor, rather, Mr. Nicholson snapped at his dog and she sat, seemingly cowed.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.  I’m sure your stay here will be memorable.  I hope to see as little of you as possible.”  He gave a tight-lipped smile, and as his Aunt sputtered and called his name in chastisement, he strode past Mr. Altin and out the door on the opposite end of the room, Makkachin following close at his heels.

“He seems like a case,” Phichit giggled, quirking his eyebrows.

Madame Baron directed herself back to Yuuri and Phichit.  “I apologize for the utter inexcusable nature of my nephew’s greeting.  I’ve no inkling as to what’s gotten into him lately.”

“It’s no reflection on you or your household, Madame,” Yuuri muttered.

“I disagree, but appreciate your leniency,” she responded with a slow blink.

~

Dinner was a rather quiet affair, as the awkward air from introductions had not dissipated.  Mr. Nicholson sat across from Yuuri, unfortunately, and instead of eating, he mostly pushed his peas and gravy around his plate, pointedly not making eye contact with anyone.  Yuuri could feel Makkachin thumping her tail every once in a while, usually when Mr. Nicholson slipped a piece of brisket under the table.  Madame Baron and Mr. Feltsman sat at the two ends of the table, and Phichit sat between Yuuri and Master Parcival, across from Miss Yang.  Yuuri still hadn’t had time to look around the manor, since maids had rushed him into his new quarters and stripped, bathed, and dressed him again.  He cut his brisket silently, hoping to whatever god was listening that no one would say anything about Mr. Nicholson’s earlier behavior.

Unfortunately, his prayers were not heard.

“Viktor, have you prepared an apology for your earlier behavior?” Mr. Feltsman grumbled into his fork.

“Yes, of course.”  He made eye contact with Yuuri, and gave him a charming, but ultimately fake smile.  “I must apologize for my rude behavior earlier today.  The remarks I made were not meant to offend.  I only meant that as guests here, you should all be out and about as much as possible, rather than sitting inside where I might stumble upon you.  I shall make every effort to seem as agreeable as possible in the future.”

“You’re going to pretend to be agreeable?” the words were out of Yuuri’s mouth before he could stop them.  Mr. Nicholson seemed to be just as surprised as Yuuri at the outburst.

After a moment to regain his composure, he replied, “Well, that is what everyone seems to want, is it not?  An agreeable man to look upon and titter about behind their fans?”

“I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them a great deal,” said Yuuri.  Phichit choked on his bite of blood sausage, and Master Parcival let out a rather ungainly, “HA!” at the comment.

Mr. Nicholson’s perfect nostrils twitched, but he seemed too incensed to say anything more.  The Madame coughed into her napkin, then distracted everyone with the schedule for their first official day as residents of the Austenland Manor.

“After the morning meal at eleven, we shall be taking a stroll down to the shooting range, where if you should like, you may learn to use the muskets here on the property.  We shall then have a slight afternoon supper and an introduction to quadrilles.  Dinner shall be served at 8 pm.  We ask that you change into your full dress for the occasion, as the maids have helped you do tonight, and please do not be late.  We should all strive for exemplary behavior,” she glared at Mr. Nicholson, who for some reason, was _still_ staring Yuuri down across the table.  Perhaps Yuuri had some gravy on his face?  He wiped himself down with his napkin just in case.

~

_Dear Yuuko,_

_The property is everything I could have dreamed of and more, and I’m not just saying that to make you worry less.  The English countryside is so quaint and simple.  It’s amazing being able to breathe in the fresh air and just look out to the pastures and enjoy some reading.  Thatbeing said, I think you’d be able to spend quite a bit of time complaining about the stable-smell that clings to your clothes.  Deodorant doesn’t exist on the property, and I know how you feel about smells._

_I have made a friend in Mr. Phichit Chulanont, a self-proclaimed social media genius.  He seems a bit misguided in terms of his historical knowledge, but what he lacks in knowledge he makes up for in enthusiasm!  The other day we were embroidering together while we waited for supper.  The poor man wouldn’t know a French knot from a whip stitch!  His hoop was a mess, but he was so proud of his creation.  I wish I had his confidence._

_The stable hand, Christophe, has been kind to me as well. Don’t think me a braggart, but I’m afraid he might be flirting with me?  He plucked the glasses off my nose the other day and cleaned them for me, saying some nonsense about how it would be a shame “not to see those pretty eyes in the sunlight.”  Flattering, but wholly embarrassing.  Perhaps he was making fun, considering he is something of a specimen himself.  He helped me learn the basics of riding yesterday.  The number of jokes he made about my rear getting sore was most impropriatous, as Madame Baron would say, but I enjoyed the lessons more than I thought I would, and we have made plans to go riding in the forest next week._

_Which brings me to the only other person I have had…meaningful interactions with.  Mr. Nicholson, The Madame’s nephew has made it his job to be the most disagreeable, frustrating person to walk this earth.  I feel as though he is following me around just to torment me, as he seems to be just around the corner wherever I decide to take reprieve.  It’s such a shame his dog is so sweet.  I wonder how such a good girl could stand to call such a man her owner.  Just tonight, he glared at me all through dinner, and spilt port on the tablecloth because he was so enthralled with his own nails.  He commented on my tan, which I’m sure he knows is not good table etiquette, and then had the gall to ask what I did for a living!  He does not need to feign interest for my benefit!  I am perfectly capable of handling my own affairs, and maybe he should pay more attention to the hangnail on his left ring finger, thank you very much!  The Darcy character is well and good in theory, but I have found him to be most displeasing upon meeting him in real life!_

_Despite his rude, and dare I say, vulgar, behavior, it has not been enough to sully my opinion of the Austenland Manor, and I find myself enjoying the simpler life the wide-open spaces and lack of technology give me.  But I miss you and our lunch time sass sessions.  I miss being able to check in with my family over facetime.  I miss hot showers and television and food that isn’t sopping in three kinds of gravy, and if I must eat another potato dish I’m going to scream!_

_Your ever-obedient servant,_

_Yuuri K._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our hero falls in a pond and gives away a handkerchief.

_Love of my life, son of my heart, Yuuri,_

_If I didn’t know that this was how you wrote texts and emails, I would say that the air in that resort was turning you into some kind of over-dramatic dandy!  Luckily, I know that’s just how you are.  It’s a shame your phone died so early into the trip. I was looking forward to more pictures.  You seriously forgot your charger in your bag?  Also, I’m still pissed that they took your medication!!  I’m pretty sure that’s illegal!!!  I’m gonna look into that shit._

_I’m glad you’re making friends at the resort!  I was a little worried you’d end up sitting alone in your room embroidering like you do at home.  Phichit sounds like a riot!  I followed his Instagram, and he’s so fun?? I would die for any one of his hamsters.  And if Chris is anything like you described, see if you can hit up that steamy Regency Romance if you know what I mean~!  Mr. Nicholson sounds kind of like a prick, but also a little bit like you’re looking for things to be upset with him over.  Don’t get me wrong, first impressions are important, but maybe he was having an off week? And maybe your anxiety is also making you believe the worst about him?  I don’t know, maybe just steal his dog and call it a day?_

_Takeshi says to tell you that he’ll call your parents if you don’t bring us back an omiyage, but I know you’re probably very busy, so don’t worry about it too much.  It’s just his way of saying he misses you!!  The triplets keep asking when is Yuuri-oniisan coming back?  And of course, other highly inappropriate questions about where you’ll be going to the bathroom and whether you wear underwear under your pants over there.  I really need to update the internet safe search…_

_And everyone at work misses you too!  Just the other day, Miranda went by your desk to ask if you wanted to go to tea this weekend, but she got there and of course you’re gone so.  Oh! but you’ll never believe what Damien did last night just before shift ended!! We were talking about how much we hated the Christmas party last year with all those disgusting flour cookies and he…_

~

“W-would you be able to tell me if there was a—”

“The stables are to the left of the lake.  Difficult to miss.”

“N-No, I was really looking for the ba—”

“There are bathrooms located at the corners of each floor as well as behind the dayroom.”

“Ballroom!  I’m looking for the ballroom!”  Yuuri sighed heavily.

“The ballroom is closed until the Grand Banquet at the end of your stay.  Regardless, there is no reason for you to need the ballroom,” Mr. Altin stated.

“Well, in that case, are there any rooms with wide open spaces?”

Mr. Altin’s eyebrow twitched, which Yuuri had no choice but to read as suspicion.  “Why would you need such a room?”  
“I, uh, I’d like to practice my ballet, if that’s not a problem.  I’m just having a bit of a difficult time finding rooms to do so.”

“You have not visited the gymnasium then, have you?”  He narrowed his eyes, then mumbled something to himself.

“There’s a gym here?”

“I’ll take that as a no.  Hmm.”  He rubbed his forefinger and thumb along the edges of his jaw.  “Don’t tell anyone I told you since I’m not sure you’re allowed to use it, but there is a gym located on the third floor, just past Mr. Feltsman’s office.  I believe that will meet all your needs.”

“Not allowed to use it?”

“It’s not “Regency Accurate,” I believe.  More _mid_ -nineteenth century than _early_.”  When Yuuri didn’t have anything to say to that, Mr. Altin gave a stiff nod and walked down the hall.

“Oh, uh, thank you!” Yuuri called after him.  Mr. Altin raised a thumbs-up over his shoulder but did not turn around to face Yuuri.

The gym was right were Mr. Altin said it was.  There was space set aside for a fencing salle, as well as several kinds of vaults and pommel horses, but what caught Yuuri’s attention were the barres lining the far wall into a corner, a few mobile ones set up perpendicularly to the wall, creating a small _centre_ space in front of the large wall mirror.  Yuuri toed off his shoes and ran his hand along the smooth wood of the _barre_.

He counted eights to himself as he went through a basic _plié_ warm up.  It had been a few days, so his knees popped when he went down in _grand_ _plié_.  It was a shame his phone had died.  He would have brought it with him and played some music so he could actually work through a routine.  Instead, he finished up his quick warm up with _battements_ , then checked his stance in the mirror as he took up B plus, one foot pointed behind him.  He supposed he could always stick to basic _pirouettes_ , but that seemed like such a waste of the space he’d been given.

~

Viktor hadn’t been trying to spy.  Really, after yet another sound talking to from Uncle Yakov, interacting with another human had been the last thing on his mind.  He’d been _planning_ on going to his room to be sad for a few hours.  It wasn’t his fault that the gymnasium was so close to his uncle’s office.  And it certainly was through no fault of his own that sound tended to echo in the gym.  So, when he heard someone using the space, he had to at least investigate.  The door was cracked, and when he first peered into the room, he saw no one, just the old wall-ladders and some dusty pommel horses.  He turned his head to survey the room better.  A man going through several waltz steps in the far corner caught his eye.  His clothes did little to ease his movements, but there was certainly a grace in his limbs as he swept a leg this way and an arm that.  As the man turned and Viktor laid eyes upon his face, he realized it was Mr. Katsuki, the man who had given Viktor’s sour mood quite the thrashing at dinner just two nights prior.

If Yuuri’s face and stature had not been appealing enough, his voice and certainly his wit made him a most interesting man.  Viktor had seen little of him except at meals, which Viktor found almost disappointing. Although perhaps keeping his distance was in Viktor’s best interests.  He’d embarrassed himself in front of Mr. Katsuki more than a few times in their limited acquaintance, if one could call their relationship such.  For instance, his hands had shaken so badly under Mr. Katsuki’s careful eye that he’d spilt half a cup of port on Aunt Lilia’s nice white tablecloth.  Uncle Yakov had assured him that the cleaning fees would be coming out of his already scant salary.

He watched Yuuri’s turns, barely a breath between his lips.  There was no music, but it didn’t seem to matter to Yuuri, so what should it matter to Viktor?  And Viktor could almost make up a waltz for Yuuri to follow along with, considering how rhythmic his steps were.  He seemed to reach a crescendo in his dance, as his movements became larger, more bombastic.  He finished his dance with a large flourish of his arms.  The stop seemed abrupt to Viktor, and he silently begged for Mr. Katsuki to continue.

Mr. Katuski ran a hand through his loose hair, most of it keeping back, and oh dear, Mr. Katsuki was not wearing his usual spectacles.  He glanced Viktor’s direction, toward the door, and Viktor fell over himself to vacate as quickly as possible.  He was down the hall and near the stairs in less than a few moments, chest constricting rather uncomfortably.  Viktor needed to speak with Christophe as soon as circumstance allowed.

Unfortunately, circumstance did not allow until their break at four in the afternoon.  The break house was just past the stables, and thankfully had central heating and wifi.  Viktor ignored all of that to casually corner Chris on the sofa.

“How have you and Mr. Katsuki been getting on?” he asked his friend.  They were sitting in what everyone referred to as the “living room” simply because it had the biggest TV.  A game of football was playing, but neither of them were too involved.

“Yuuri?  He’s great.  A natural rider, too.  We’re going out to the forest next week.  Oh shit, don’t tell Lilia about that.  I’m not supposed to engage the guests like that.”

“I won’t tell a soul.”

“Why do you ask?  Has he caught your eye?”

“Maybe.  I happened to pass by the gym earlier today, where he appeared to be practicing ballet.”

“He was in a company back in university,” Chris smiled.

“Oh, so you’re close then?”

“Somewhat.  He’s nice, sweet even.”

“Are you going to make a move on him?” Viktor did his best to keep his tone even.

“You know I have a boyfriend.  Even if I didn’t, I don’t think he’s my type.”

“How so?”

“Oh, what’s the word in English?  He’s so…timid?  Shy?”

“Just say it in French then,” Viktor chastised.

“ _Vertueux_?”

“You think he’s virtuous?”

“Well he doesn’t seem the type to hop into a bedroll with the stable hand, despite his good looks,” Chris waggled his eyebrows.

“You’re incorrigible.”

Placing his chin in his hand, Chris hummed.  The silence that followed was companionable, but left Viktor restless.

“He’s…” Viktor started.  He knew there was something he was trying to say, but he just couldn’t get it out.

“I helped him mount a horse the other day, so if you’re wondering if his ass is as firm as it looks, I can tell you first-hand that it is.”

Viktor clicked his teeth shut at Chris’s comment and subsequent laughter, feeling blood rushing to his cheeks and ears.

“Oh, come now friend!  I’ve seen you watching after him with that besotted look of yours and your heart-sick sighs!”  Chris flapped a hand over his forehead and let out a dramatic sigh, ignoring his friend’s increasing embarrassment.

“He’s…He’s just…”

“Hot as hell?”

“Beautiful,” Viktor managed in a small voice.

~

Yuuri had had enough of the rain.  It had been ceaseless for four days.  He’d completed three embroidery hoops, two hats, and one pair of gloves, and he wanted nothing more than to be able to walk the moors or ride in the forest, or at least get away from all the company.  Mr. Nicholson still watched after him as though he believed Yuuri was about to break one of the vases placed around the day room at any second.  There had been times when he might have made to speak to Yuuri, but for whatever reason he’d say nothing.  Or on one notable occasion, he’d made some rather off-color remark about getting to know Chris in a more intimate manner.  Yuuri had replied that, considering Chris’s position as a stable hand and Viktor’s as a gentleman, their relationship would have made a wonderful Romance novel.  Viktor had choked on his own spit at that, and Yuuri had given Viktor a handkerchief.  Viktor made his retreat posthaste, likely embarrassed.  Yuuri couldn’t help it.  He was going mad cooped up in the manor!

So, when the rain finally came to an end, Yuuri tore out as quickly as he could.  He enjoyed his solitude for probably an hour before he remembered that he was to be taking singing lessons with Mr. Chulonont and Miss Yang at three.  Heading back to the manor made his finger twitch in their gloves, but if he wanted to stay in Madame Baron’s begrudgingly good graces, he could not be late.  He might not have been late either, if it was not for an energetic poodle and her wayward master.

Yuuri found himself tumbling down a hill and into a small pond between just outside the forest, perhaps a mile away from the manor, the large and very happy poodle splashing about him.

“Makkachin! Bad girl!”  Mr. Nicholson’s voice was unmistakable, and the tread of horse hooves drew closer as Yuuri shivered and laughed at the sloppy kisses Makkachin bestowed upon him.  “I must apologize, I don’t know what’s gotten into her.  Bad girl, Makka!  We’ve talked about this!”  Mr. Nicholson swung himself off his horse and carefully made his way down the hill towards the pond.  He gave a sharp whistle, causing Makkachin’s ears to perk.  She gave one last lick to Yuuri’s chin and bounded off to her master.  Yuuri did his best to stand, but he found that the wind cut right through his sodden clothes—pants, vest, and coat be damned; and his legs betrayed him.  He collapsed with an undignified splash.

Still holding onto the reins of his horse, Mr. Nicholson reached out a hand to draw Yuuri out of the pond, and Yuuri had little choice but to take it.  Mr. Nicholson hauled him up and set a hand on either shoulder to steady him.

“Are you alright?”

“F-F-Fine!” Yuuri managed.

“I truly must apologize for Makkachin’s behavior, oh dear, you’ll catch your death like this.”  He began pulling Yuuri towards his horse.  What was extraordinary about this was that his tone seemed genuine, as if he truly was sorry.  He found himself thinking back to Yuuko’s letter.

“Can you mount on your own?”

“Excuse me?”

“The horse!  I meant can you mount the horse on your own?”

“I c-can walk!” Yuuri insisted.

“Not shivering like that you most certainly cannot!”

“It’s barely a mile to the manor, I’ll be fine.”

“Mr. Katsuki, please.  Your lips are turning quite a spectacular shade of blue.”

Yuuri sighed.  “As you wish.  I w-will need help.”  Mr. Nicholson almost appeared pleased by this information.  Makkachin bounced happily at their heels, tongue lolling.  Mr. Nicholson was much less…handsy than Chris had been when he helped Yuuri up into the saddle; his hands never strayed from Yuuri’s waist.  Then, much to Yuuri’s dismay, he pivoted himself onto the horse as well, just behind Yuuri.

“Is this alright?”

“Y-Yes!” Yuuri squeaked.  Disagreeable nature aside, Mr. Nicholson was quite a handsome man, and this act of chivalry might have played to a few of Yuuri’s more private fantasies.  Much more importantly, Yuuri worried that Mr. Nicholson’s front was getting quite wet from being pressed to Yuuri’s back, but if the chill bothered Mr. Nicholson, he said nothing.  He spurred the horse on into a canter, Makkachin bounding after them.

Mr. Nicholson coughed.  “I feel perhaps I made a bad first impression.”

“And second.  And third impression,” Yuuri said before his conscience could catch up to him.

Mr. Nicholson actually laughed at that.  “I suppose you’re right.”  His tone turned more contemplative as he continued.  “I will admit that I am have put my foot in my mouth several times in recent occasion.  I must apologize for my indecent behavior.  I promise that my intentions are not to play the prideful gentleman, but I seem to be able to do little else.”

Yuuri shivered from the breath in his ear rather than the cold.  “I cannot say I forgive you, since you lack specificity, but I am at the least grateful for your self-awareness.  And the act of charity you are engaged in currently.”

“Then I shall be grateful for your gratefulness.”

Yuuri chuckled but had to sneeze before he was done.  He leaned further back into Mr. Nicholson’s chest.  The wind did little to warm him, but at least he’d be back in the manor much quicker at this rate.  As it was, the stables were within view.

“We’ll have to change you and wrap you and Makkachin up by a fire, once she’s dry.”

“You might need to join us,” Yuuri muttered.

“Ah—Perhaps I might,” Viktor laughed.  “Your cold is seeping into my skin it seems.”

“What were you doing out in the woods, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Checking to see how they’d stood up to the rain.  I was going stir crazy in that awful house.  Reading in the library is a fine way to spend a day or two, but I have not been out in nearly a week!”

Makkachin barked loudly and picked up speed, water still sprinkling off her long coat.  When Yuuri looked closer, he noticed Chris unloading rolls of hay from a wooden cart.  Mr. Nicholson’s arms seemed to tighten around Yuuri’s shoulders.

“I will take you to the manor,” he said as if to explain why he was not slowing the horse down.

“There’s no need,” Yuuri replied furrowing his brow. “I’m sure Chris will be able to escort me to the house.  I don’t wish to infringe on your time.”

“Chris is a scoundrel.  A good man, but a scoundrel nonetheless.  I do not enjoy the thought of leaving you alone with him.  I will take you to the manner.”

Yuuri almost shot back that he could handle Chris’s advances, since they were all in jest, that Viktor’s sense of duty was admirable, but unnecessary, that Yuuri was a grown man who could make his own choices, but Mr. Nicholson continued.  “Most likely he will make a show of me, and call me a sopping fop, despite the fact it is you who are sopping.”

On another day, Yuuri might have taken that as an insult, but Mr. Nicholson’s voice was not acerbic, but rather petulant, as if this scenario had played out several times and Mr. Nicholson had had quite enough.  Yuuri let out a rather undignified snort of laughter, bumping his head on Mr. Nicholson’s nose.

“Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean—”

“You’re quite alright,” Mr. Nicholson smiled.  “You have quite the charming laugh.”

“Do you mean to make a jest of _me_?  I sound like sow.”

“Perhaps, but a charming sow.”

Maybe Yuuko had been right.  Maybe Yuuri had misjudged Mr. Nicholson.

~

Yuuri was desperately trying to teach Phichit how to french knot, but for whatever reason, Phichit only left a trail of loose, loopy stitches in his needle’s wake.

“No, you wrap your floss twice around the needle!” Yuuri demonstrated again.  “And you slide it off near the fabric, like this.”

“I think I’ve got it this time,” said Phichit.  They’d both found the half-dress gowns that the manor had supplied them a few days ago and worn nothing else since.  As striking as pants and a waist coat were, nothing beat the comfort of some corded stays and an airy gown.  Yuuri had marveled at the craftsmanship of the dresses and petticoats, and almost missed breakfast the day he’d found them, so enchanted he was.  Today Phichit had wrapped himself in a soft yellow dress with eyelet lace poking out from every seam.  Yuuri had pulled this blue gown out a few nights before, trying to decide if he liked the square neckline and ribbon along the waistline.  Now that he was wearing it, he had to say he would say he was more than partial to it.

“Oh, shoot!” Phichit grumbled, as he pulled yet another terrible knot into his fabric.  “Why is this so hard!”

Yuuri laughed, but continued with his work.

“You’ve got to be magic, with how easy you make it look.”

“Not magic, just lots of practice,” Yuuri hummed back.  “I find it helps calm my nerves, thinking about where the next stitch should go.  And I can always pull stitches out if I make a mistake.”

“Or you could just burn the thing, hoop and all!”

“Now you’re starting to sound like Master Parcival,” Yuuri said.

“What was it that Madame Baron called him last night?  A muck-spit?”

“Muck-spout.”

“A muck-spout!  And she called Mr. Nicholson a fopdoodle! I love that word!  These British people have the best words!  I’m going to have to make a list or something!”

“She’s insulting us, you know,” came a voice from the doorway.  Yuuri and Phichit whipped their heads around to see Mr. Nicholson standing, hat in his hands, just inside the room with them.  “Forgive my intrusion, but I was wondering if there might be room here for me to read.”

“Do as you like,” Yuuri nodded.  Mr. Nicholson returned the gesture and made his home in a chaise situated just before a window to Yuuri and Phichit’s right.  Makkachin gave them both salutary sniffs before joining her master.

“I assume that The Madame’s complaints are not suited to you?” Yuuri asked with a grin as Mr. Nicholson settled.

“Oh, of course they are.  I just wish she were less liberal with who she shared our vices with.”

“So, your vices are being ineffective and lazy rather than being rude and presumptive?”

Mr. Nicholson seemed to not have an answer for that, but Phichit’s low whistle kept silence from interrupting them.  Much to Yuuri’s embarrassment, Mr. Nicholson stood and moved to the couch across from them, obviously hoping to continue the conversation.

“You’re quite sharped tongued, aren’t you, Mr. Katsuki?  I suppose I should have expected this when you said you did not forgive me my first impressions.”

“Well, considering you made me late for a singing lesson with The Madame, I’m not sure you can blame me for my terrible ill will towards you.”

“I apologize again for my Makkachin’s behavior.  As you can see she is usually well-behaved and obedient.  I will talk to my aunt if you wish to right the record.”

“I’m more upset that I did not get to sit by a fire with Makkachin in my arms.”

Mr. Nicholson glanced down at the dog by his feet, and Phichit tittered.

“Okay, but honestly Madame Lilia has been coming for you recently, hasn’t she?”

“Mr. Chulanont is correct if what I’ve heard is true.”

“Well, she does believe in strict schedules, which I have officially disrupted,” Yuuri sighed.  Over the last three days, the Madame had refused to speak to him at dinner, denied him coffee, cut his piano lesson short, and been generally disagreeable.

“She called your last hoop ‘uninspired’,” Phichit air-quoted.  “Whatever the hell that means!  It was a flower for God’s sake, how inspiring is a flower supposed to be?”

Yuuri and Mr. Nicholson chuckled at Phichit’s frustration.

With a clever look towards Mr. Nicholson, Yuuri said, “Bad tempers must run in the family.”

“I—” Mr. Nicholson must not have had any other words, because his mouth gaped much like a fish’s.  Phichit took his turn laughing, and Yuuri had to hide his grin behind his hoop.

“My sincerest apologies,” Yuuri said between chuckles, “The opportunity presented itself, and I found the temptation too strong.”

“Are you calling yourself weak-willed, Mr. Katsuki?”

“Only in cases in which you are involved.”

For whatever reason, Mr. Nicholson clenched his fists in his lap.  For a moment Yuuri believed he had taken his teasing too far.

“You’ve seen Yura and Uncle Yakov, have you not?  I suppose there is some truth in your words,” he said with a good-natured smile.

“Yura?  You mean ‘Master Parcival’?” Phichit forced a stuffy English accent that had Yuuri snorting in a rather undignified manner.

“Is that his given name?” Yuuri finally managed.  “Yura?”

“That’s a strange name, even for you British people,” Phichit helped.

“Uh, well,” Mr. Nicholson fidgeted with the cloth of his white pants. “What are you sewing this time?”

“We’re not sewing,” Phichit responded sagely.  “We’re _embroidering_.”

“My apologies.  What are you _embroidering_?”

Yuuri gripped his hoop much closer to his chest, blushing furiously.  Phichit held up his own hoop up, ignoring how many loops and stray threads were trailing off it, “I’m practicing French knots so I can make the eyes on my hamsters!”  He picked up another messy hoop with three golden shapes that could be hamsters if one applied enough imagination.

“How quaint,” Mr. Nicholson.  “And you, Mr. Katsuki?”

“Oh, Yuuri show him, show him!  This is hilarious, just look!”

“Phichit!”

“Oh, come on!  He won’t tell The Madame!  Will you, Mr. Nicholson?”

“I can’t imagine wanting to alert my Aunt to anything happening in this estate.”

“See, Yuuri? Look look!”  Phichit pried the hoop from Yuuri’s chest but didn’t force it out of Yuuri’s hands.  Yuuri’s face heated further as Mr. Nicholson looked over his clean satin stitches.

“Ha!” Mr. Nicholson barked out.  He reached out to take the hoop from Yuuri, so Yuuri just let him have it, ears burning like the coals smoldering in the fireplace beside them.

Yuuri hadn’t had the opportunity to express his frustrations in a…satisfactory manner in a week and a half, due to the necessity of propriety, so.  On his hoop, and a crisp pink calligraphy, Yuuri had embroidered the word “Fuck,” which he planned on surrounding with bullion knot roses and lazy daisies.

“This is…this is…art, Mr. Katsuki.  I haven’t seen anything quite this humorous in some time.  And your stitch work is impeccable.”

“Th-thank you, Mr. Nicholson.”  He scrambled to take the hoop back.  Yuuri startled when their fingers brushed, but Mr. Nicholson startled too when Master Parcival threw open a window to their left.

“Hey!  Viktor!  You promised to teach me how to use the muskets today, you sniveling old man!”

“Ah, Yura!” Mr. Nicholson smiled.  “I must have lost track of time.  One moment, please.  I’ll go get changed for shooting on the range.  Set up the targets if you will.”

Master Parcival just made a rude noise and slammed the window shut.

Mr. Nicholson sighed.  “Woe to him who offends a child.  Apologies, I must take my leave,” Mr. Nicholson said as he motioned for Makka to follow him.  “I look forward to seeing you at dinner.”  And then he was gone.

Phichit had the patience to wait three seconds before falling into a tizzy.  “Oh, Yuuri!  He was flirting with you!”

“Huh!”

“Did you see the way he looked at you when he left?  He’s so into you it hurts!”

“Phichit, I think you’re overreacting!  I’m sure he just wanted to make sure I wasn’t offended.”

“He complimented your embroidery!”

“He’s being nice!”

Phichit scoffed.  “Ah, yes.  Mr. Nicholson.  _Queen_ of being nice!  You know what I heard him say to Madame Baron on our first week here? I remember it because it was so pretentious and dramatic it _hurt_!”  When Yuuri just glanced at his embroidery hoop, Phichit continued.  “He said, and I quote! ‘Nothing in this world is harder than speaking the truth, nothing easier than flattery.’  How’s _that_ for ‘being nice’?”

“Well, obviously, he’s flattering me then.  It’s easier.”

Phichit slapped his hand over his face.

~

_Dearest Yuuko,_

_It’s so good to hear about the girls and Nishigori!  I miss them more than I care to admit.  And it sounds like things are going well at work even if I’m not there to share the burden of Monica’s weekly mother-in-law complaint session!_

_The weather here has gotten much better over the last few days, and I managed quite well on the horse with Chris.  We had a small lunch of roast quail and green beans, that Chris managed to sneak out of the kitchens.  Evidently, he is not supposed to engage with guests aside from meeting their equestrian-related needs, but I can’t imagine how dull this place would be without him!  When he is not busy playing the part of the rugged stable hand or coachman, he is a part time model and technical writer.  He has a cat named Christine waiting for him at home, and his favorite television show is RuPaul’s Drag Race.  He seems an overall fair and agreeable man, even if his hands wander a touch too much, and his jokes are hardly anything but off-color._

_Phichit has been making sure I socialize regularly, so you need not fret over that.  We’ve been busy modeling outfits and trading costume pieces to make sure we look our best at all times, his words, not mine.  I find there is something satisfying in putting on an outfit, but not having to commit to it for a day.  He makes sure to sit next to me at meal times, so we can share looks of malcontent and sarcastic understanding when Master Parcival inevitably makes a scene of the dinner.  It turns out that Phichit is also quite the talented pianist.  He took lessons for a long time, and despite his short stature, his hands are the perfect shape and size for playing complicated, far-reaching chords.  I find myself jealous of his talent, even if his embroidery efforts have not gotten him much praise.  We’ve been passing the time with lessons when no one else is around and he has taught me simplified versions of several classics and a few modern songs Madame Baron would turn her nose up at._

_Mr. Nicholson has redeemed himself in my eyes if only slightly.  I take back what I have said about him previously and offer this new sentiment in exchange: he seems a very harmless sort of young man, nothing to like or dislike in him — goes out shooting or hunting with two others all the morning, and plays at whist and makes queer faces in the evening.  This being said, I cannot help but wonder if he is making fun of me at times.  At one supper, he talked of nothing but sponge cake.  The words “delicate” and “airy” were used in excess.  He then went on to discuss the trade of sponge cake and its place in the economy!  You know how interesting the purchase of a sponge-cake is to me, but I found it somewhat boring to discuss its yearly dissemination rates while Phichit and Miss Bakewell were discussing their plans to view the moon tomorrow night.  I was too embarrassed for him to say a word, and so it continued!  I will often find him peering at me over one of his many novels, like I could put an elbow through a window at any moment.  But he has become somewhat more agreeable.  It has become a nightly diversion to watch Miss Yang try and impress someone so intent on being unimpressed with everyone as he.  Mr. Feltsman; Mr. Altin, the butler; and Phichit have a betting pool on the length of time it takes for her to lose interest.  Other than that, I have had some very peculiar moments with him. It seems he cannot often decide whether to speak to me, and when he does he doesn’t seem to have anything to say.  Sometimes he seems forward, even brusque with his words (He comments on my dress without fail, as if to tell me it is out of fashion), but other times, he seems too overcome with pride to even speak (He will sit in a corner and ignore anyone in the room when in one of his moods).  I feel like he is only speaking to me out of pity.  More importantly, I feel like he is keeping something from us.  Whenever anyone asks a question about his likes or dislikes, about himself, he changes the subject or lies.  I don’t know how I can tell he is lying, Yuuko, but I can.  Other than his general affect and his relation to other members of the household, I cannot say I know much about him.  All I can say is that he is a curious man._

_Madame Baron has found every reason to be cross with me, even if there is no reason.  There was an unfortunate incident involving Mr. Nicholson’s dog that caused me to be late to a singing lesson, and I fear I have lost occupancy of her good graces forever.  She is short with me when I speak to her at meal times, and she often ends my lessons early.  Just yesterday, when I asked her if she might enjoy a game of cards, she accused me of being a gambling man!  And she implied I was a lush at dinner, in front of all the residents and guests and staff!  I had to excuse myself because everyone was looking at me.  I don’t know how to apologize to her, even though I have not been late to any excursions since, and now it seems too far from the event in question to make a formal apology._

_There is good news in all of this!  Apparently, The Madame is a fan of dance, and has compromised the historical accuracy of the manor in order to offer a gym, complete with a makeshift studio!  I have lost countless hours practicing with only my own voice to count beats.  It is the most comforting time of my day if I am honest.  She also has several pieces of gymnastic equipment that I am too nervous to look at for too long and a salle for fencing.  I know nothing of the sport, but I must admit seeing the foils lined up on the wall is aesthetically pleasing…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favorite chapter of the story, between the inappropriate embroidery and Viktor's "We've talked about this."   
> As always, visit me on my writing twitter [here](https://twitter.com/bastetwrites?lang=en)  
> Or my tumblr [here](https://bastetcg.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

_Dear Yuuri,_

_It sounds to me like Chris is one hundred percent flirting with you!  I forget that these people have lives outside of the manor.  You don’t think he has a partner out in the real world, do you?  That would suck if you hooked up with him only to find out it was all an act, or worse, he’s a cheating sack of shit!  Regardless, you’ll have to teach me how to ride when you get back.  We’ll make a day of it!_

_Phichit sounds like a sweet guy!  You better remember to grab his number before you leave!  Or else I’ll force you to follow his Instagram and contact him through that!  I’m jealous you get to wear pretty outfits every day and no one will judge you because everyone’s in pretty outfits.  Meanwhile, I’m back in the states in paint-stained mom jeans and a T shirt from 2008.  It really is too bad you can’t take pictures while you’re there._

_Mr. Nicholson sounds like a trip!  Sponge cake?  Really?  And for a whole dinner time?  No one stopped him?!  He seems to get more eccentric with each letter you send, and to be honest, I don’t know how to peg him anymore._

_You wouldn’t have been late to that singing lesson because you got_ distracted _by the dog, would you have?  Because I can name at least five occasions I’ve had to tear you away from dogs on our way to work in the last year alone.  You have a problem, Yuuri.  We’ll get you help when you get home.  In light of that, Madame Baron sounds kind of like a bitch.  You’re paying her a ridiculous amount of money for this stay, so she should probably treat you well.  Especially since she took your medication from you!!!!!  But I’ll definitely let Minako know that you’re still sticking to the dance regimen!  She’ll probably give me new routines to mail to you, which I’m sure you’ll be glad to have, considering you’re probably bored to tears over there.  You can only spend so many hours reading or embroidering before you go blind!  Or, in your case,_ more _blind!_

_Anyway, I got to work early yesterday because Takeshi took care of the girls, and I was heading up to our floor when some random guy just pushed all the frickin’ buttons in the elevator because he wanted to talk to me!  I hate that shit, you know I hate that shit!!!  This is why I don’t talk to any other men but Takeshi and you!  I was halfway afraid, halfway ready to twist the guy’s balls off!  Luckily, he didn’t follow me when I got off on the wrong floor because like hell am I gonna let him know where I work!  I reported him to Keith, but I don’t know if anything’s gonna happen…_

~

“You’re spending too much time with Mr. Katsuki,” Viktor pouted.  Just a few meters away, Yura held his nose as he cannonballed into the pool.  Chris, from his lawn chair next to Viktor’s, clapped politely at the size of the splash.

“Just because I know how to carry on a conversation that doesn’t involve sponge cake—”

“That was an accident!  I started talking, and I just couldn’t stop!”

Chris laughed.  Yuri got out of the pool and ran over to push Mila in, but his feet slipped out in front of him and he landed on his butt.  Chris and Viktor grimaced in sympathy.

“I didn’t make eye contact that day you had him riding in front of you on Chestnut.  If I really wanted to steal him away, I would have called you two over or something.”  Chris took another sip of his fruity cocktail.  “Besides, neither of us are interested in each other like that.”

“How do you know?” Viktor frowned.

“I just do.  Plus, boyfriend, remember?”

“’Boyfriend,’ you say, and yet you took him on a date,” Viktor continued to pout.

Chris laughed.  “That wasn’t a date! He wanted to get to know the grounds better, so I offered to take him riding!”

“You had a picnic!”

“As friends!  Yuuri’s had picnics with Phichit countless times!”

“And you call him by his first name!”

“Oh my God!” Chris threw his free hand up in exasperation.  “He spent half the hour asking about you anyway!”

“He…He did?”

“Yes, he can’t seem to figure you out.  Thinks half the time you’re making fun of him, and the other half he thinks you’re avoiding him.  Anytime you’re not doing those he finds you “agreeable” whatever that means.  I swear, I’ve heard that word so many times in the last two weeks it’s lost all meaning to me.”

“H-He thinks I’m making fun of him?  I thought he was trying to play hard to get!”

“What do you mean ‘hard to get’?  He may be gay but he’s more straightforward than a hundred-meter dash.”

“He…He said he wanted me to join him by the fire…”

“Probably a courtesy, considering you had only gotten wet helping him.”

“He said he was weak-willed when I was involved!”

“He was probably being sarcastic.”

“He gave me his handkerchief!” Viktor said, as if that would end the argument.  Chris narrowed his eyes.

“And you returned it to him, right?”

Viktor stared pointedly at the floor.

“You keep it under your pillow, don’t you?”

Viktor nodded with a pathetic frown. “I look at it when I’m sad.”

“Viktor, oh my God.”

“But…but he dances so beautifully!” Viktor practically wailed.

“Ah, yes.  Your daily spying.  I’m sure that when he finds out about that, he’ll run into your arms and you’ll get married and have several dog-children and live happily ever after.”

“You think so?”

Chris whapped Viktor over the head with his rolled-up issue of Cosmo UK.

~

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Madame Lilia said with an unnerving smile on her face.  “Most wonderful news!”

“Oh goody,” Master Parcival blew his hair out of his eyes just to make sure everyone could see him rolling them.

“Captain Leroy has returned from South Canada!”

“Captain Leroy?” Phichit said as he slapped down another card, and Mila threw her hand on the table in frustration.

“You _have_ to be cheating!” she hissed.

“To be honest I’m not even sure what we’re playing,” he shrugged back.

“As I was saying!” the Madame continued.  “I would like to introduce you to the accomplished and well-bred, Captain Jean-Jacques Leroy.”  She took a little bow and stepped to the side to make way for a muscular, tan man wearing a billowing blouse and tight buckskin breeches.  His hair was cropped yet tousled and he posed as if he were the star of some steamy Regency-themed porno aimed at lonely housewives.  His self-assured smirk and quick survey of the room told Yuuri all he needed to know about Leroy’s character.

“Oh God, not this asshole again,” Master Parcival muttered to himself.  Madame Lilia must not have heard him, because she kept on with introductions.

“This is Miss Yang, a most interesting woman.  Very well read, and quite the gifted conversationalist.  Her father owns a large property in Cambridge.”

“A delight to meet you,” Captain Leroy said, bowing, but not showing much interest.  Yuuri glanced in the direction that Leroy seemed drawn to, and found Viktor wearing the most nonplussed expression he’d ever seen on the man’s face.

“Mr. Chulanont, who has stock in several South Asian coffee companies.”

“Charmed,” Leroy nods, still uninterested.

“And last, and least, Mr. Katsuki.  A talented young man in the feminine arts when he can deign to join us.”

Yuuri might have bristled at that if the shift in Leroy’s demeanor hadn’t changed so suddenly.  He took two steps to reach Yuuri, exclaimed he had never seen such beauty but in the Cathedrals of Notre Dame, knelt on the ground, and kissed Yuuri’s knuckles.  Yuuri, frozen in place, only let out a squeak in response.  Mr. Nicholson, on the other hand, had no issue snapping his book shut and striding out of the room without a word to anyone.

Turning back to Mila, Phichit half whispered, “It’s your move.”

~

If Yuuri didn’t know what to make of Mr. Nicholson, he certainly didn’t know what to do with Captain Leroy.  The man had almost no interest in him when they were in smaller more intimate settings, but the moment the party reached five or six people, Leroy seemed to have nothing but words and uncomfortable gestures aimed in Yuuri’s general direction.  It did terrible things for Yuuri’s anxiety, not knowing where he stood with the other man, so he began avoiding him whenever possible.  He found himself glancing over his shoulder several times on his way anywhere in the house, but particularly during his trips to the gymnasium.  If Captain Leroy was to intrude on Yuuri’s most sacred time, he didn’t know what he’d do.

Phichit seemed to like him just fine, as did most of the staff.

“Sure, he’s an idiot and a braggart,” Phichit hadd said, “But he seems like a genuinely nice guy I guess?  Well, maybe not genuine, but he’s not a complete asshole, you feel?”

Master Parcival had other opinions.  “If that dickhead comes near my cat one more time, I’m going to poison his food with arsenic!”  A bit extreme, in Yuuri’s opinion, but to be fair, Captain Leroy had spilt ink on Master Parcival’s cat a few too many times for it to be a coincidence.  Mr. Nicholson was strangely tight-lipped about their newest guest, despite the general feeling of unease that permeated the room whenever the two occupied the same space.  Like Yuuri, Mr. Nicholson had decided to make himself as scarce as possible.

~

It was the end of their second week at the manor, Captain Leroy’s third day, when Yuuri ate the undercooked scallops.  Leroy had been regaling the whole table about some made up trip to the West Indies where his crew had been at sword and musket point and he had valiantly swooped in to save the day.  Yuuri hadn’t been paying attention, even though Leroy had made a big show of sitting across from him and trying to engage in conversation.  Instead Yuuri focused on the scallops on his plate, swimming in some kind of cream sauce.  He wouldn’t say there was something wrong with them, more like the dinner atmosphere wasn’t sitting well with him.  To avoid eye contact with the captain, he focused on eating the scallops, interrupting his bites with a few nibbles of salad.  He was very glad not to be eating potatoes, and even gladder still that Mr. Nicholson was too far away for Yuuri to really appreciate the look of consternation on his face.

Everything was fine, or as fine as it could be, when Yuuri went to sleep.  Everything was not so fine when he woke up.  He raced to his tiny en-suite bathroom and vomited rather spectacularly into the toilet.  He didn’t trust himself to get back to bed, so he rested his forehead on the cool porcelain tile of the floor and promptly fell asleep.

He didn’t wake up again until someone pounded on his door.

“Hey, Porkchop!” came Master Parcival’s sonorous cry.  “You’re twenty minutes late to the wine tasting!”

Yuuri groaned as the pounding continued.  He pulled himself to his feet with great effort, then lurched forward again to spill what was left in his stomach into the toilet.

“Hey!  You okay in there?!”

“Hnnnn…” was all Yuuri could really say

“Are you gonna open this door or am I gonna have to go get the keys from Otabek?”

Yuuri squinted to himself as he tried to remember who Otabek was.  Instead of standing this time, Yuuri dragged himself through his bedroom and to the door.  When the lock clicked open, Master Parcival almost hit Yuuri with the door as he threw it open.

“Were you throwing up?  Oh Jesus, it stinks in here!”  He jumped backwards when his foot almost landed on Yuuri’s left hand.

“Smells like barf…” was all Yuuri managed to get out.  He was cold, shivering all over, but there was sweat beading on his forehead and chest.  And he was tired.  More tired than he’d been in his life ever.  He should probably get back to bed.

“So you did throw up.  Ugh, gross.”  Despite his words, Master Parcival bent down and threw Yuuri’s arm over his shoulder and hoisted Yuuri’s dead weight up.  Yuuri might have been impressed with Master Parcival’s show of strength had he been able to focus on anything but how awful he felt.  “Stay here,” Master Parrcival said when he finally managed to maneuver Yuuri into bed, “I mean, unless you have to throw up again or something.  And try not to shit the bed, okay?”

He must have left then, because Yuuri woke up later to an empty room.  He felt better, but sluggish and heavy.  He didn’t know if he had a fever, but the idea of getting out of bed was reprehensible.  But he was so thirsty.  And hungry.  Oh, but the thought of food made his stomach churn.  There was a bell pull he could use to alert the servants of his needs, but he didn’t want to bother anyone…  He stared at the cord and debated pulling it, so great was his thirst.  Not even thirty seconds into his internal debate, there was a soft knock at the door.

“Yes?” Yuuri grunted out.

“It’s Viktor, uh, Nicholson.  Are you feeling quite well, Mister Katsuki?”

“I feel terrible,” Yuuri said.

“Would you mind if I stepped in for a moment?  I’ve brought water and some salt-crackers.  I figured you might be in need of them.”

“Th-the door is open,” Yuuri replied.  Oh, Lord, had he flushed the toilet?  The last thing he needed was for Mr. Nicholson to see his vomit.  Disgusting.

There wasn’t any time to think further on the matter, as Mr. Nicholson pushed the door open slowly and let himself in.  His eyes darted to Yuuri first, then, after taking him in, he began taking in the sparse décor of Yuuri’s room.  “Quite Spartan, don’t you think?” he muttered.

“Didn’t have the money for a nice room,” Yuuri muttered back.

“S-Sorry, I only meant that it seems a waste keeping you in here when there are several nicer, uninhabited rooms available.  Ah, never mind!  Here you are.”  Viktor set the silver tray he had brought on Yuuri’s hips.  “I hope you’re feeling better.  From what Master Parcival told us, you were in quite the state this morning.”

“This morning?  What time is it now?”

“Half-past two, I’m afraid.”

Yuuri groaned.  “I missed everything today.  Madame Baron is going to kill me!”

“Not to fear!”  Viktor grinned, almost proudly.  “Aunt Lilia called off today’s activities because half the staff is ill, including Mila, Captain Leroy, and Mister Feltsman.  Bad batch of scallops.”

“The scallops,” Yuuri hissed.  “They weren’t even that good!”

Viktor laughed.  “Well, regardless of their quality in taste, they have quite taken it out of you.  If you could drink some water?”

“Right.”  Yuuri took a few sips out of politeness’s sake before he began gulping.  He polished the glass off with a gasp of breath.  “Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome.  Do you think you’ll be able to eat the crackers?”

Yuuri scowled at them, and Mr. Nicholson laughed.

“Well, I suppose that’s fair.  We should see how the water sits in your stomach before we have you adding anything else.”

“I hope I didn’t give Master Parcival too much of a fright this morning,” said Yuuri.

“He was fine.  Complained that you could ‘lose a few kilos,’ I believe is how he put it.”

Yuuri groaned yet again.  “Well if the vomiting keeps up, I just might.”  Yuuri’s eyes shot open when he realized how inappropriate and repulsive the comment was, but to his surprise, Mr. Nicholson chuckled.

“Master Parcival is an adolescent with no meat on his bones.  An aristocrat in every sense of the word.  The only good exercise he gets is when he goes out hunting or decides to show off his dancing.  Your size has little to do with his shortcomings.”

Yuuri might have appreciated that, had his stomach stayed still.  Unfortunately, its churning was not easy to ignore, and Yuuri had to stagger his way to the toilet once more, and not without overturning the tray of crackers in his haste.  When he was done, he remembered to flush his mess down the pipes.  Then he staggered back to his bed, trying to ignore all the crumbs left in the tray’s wake.  Viktor had moved the upturned tray and what remained of the crackers to one of Yuuri’s side tables.  His brows were drawn together, in disgust.

“I’m sorry you had to see me this way,” Yuuri bowed his head.

“Excuse me?”

“I-I’m sorry,” Yuuri tried again, “that you have to see me when I’m like this.”

“There’s no need to apologize!  My Aunt fed you some bad scallops, if anything, she should be the one apologizing to you.  However, I think we both know that will not be happening soon.”

Yuuri let out a soft sigh of a laugh.  “Yes, I think it would be highly optimistic of me to expect that.”  Maybe Mister Nicholson wasn’t disgusted by Yuuri’s illness.  Maybe he was, dare Yuuri hope, concerned?

“To be honest I’m just glad you realized the toilets were there for a reason.  There have been a few…incidents with the decorative chamber pots.”

“Are you serious?”

Viktor nodded, and Yuuri couldn’t contain his snort of laughter, which would have embarrassed him back into silence had it not been for the absolute delight shining in Mister Nicholson’s eyes.

~

Once Yuuri and the rest of the manor workers had recovered from their unfortunate run in with the scallops, the schedule resumed as if it had never gone off course.  The group was coming back from shooting practice when Miss Yang cornered Yuuri in one of the more Grecian entrance ways.

“Kastuki, I will do anything if you could just get me five minutes alone with Captain LeRoy.”

“Excuse me?”  Yuuri pulled his glasses into place by the edge of the frame.  “How would I do that?”

“I don’t now!  Just…if you’re alone, just text me or something, and I’ll show up and then you leave!”

“Text you!” Yuuri gasped.  He lowered his voice when Miss Lang shushed him.  “You have a phone?”

“What you think I actually gave my phone to Lilia?  Pfft!  Wait, don’t tell me you did?”

“Well, not really, but my phone’s been dead since the second day,” he shrugged.

“Is it an iPhone?  I have a charger.”

“Are you serious?”

“Listen, I am the thirstiest bitch on the planet right now, and the only thing that can quench my parched pussy is that man.”  When Yuuri blinked at her vulgarity, she cocked an eyebrow.  “Unless you want him for yourself.”

“Oh, dear God, no.”

“Good.  I’ll bring the charger tonight.  Your room’s the one at the end of the hall, right?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

She blinked.  “Oh.  Okay.”

And true to her word, Miss Yang knocked on his door that night to drop of her charger and a reminder of their deal.

“I’m not responsible for what happens if you get caught, but you aren’t responsible if I get caught.  Sound good?”

Honestly, Yuuri just didn’t know how to say no, this was a terrible plan, and they’d most certainly get caught and kicked out with little to no refund, and why the hell was Miss Yang so desperate for Captain LeRoy?  He nodded to her and bit his bottom lip.  That night he couldn’t sleep for his nerves.

~

Yuuri had been tired of Lilia for a week and a half.  She refused to acknowledge him unless she had to.  The servants passed him over at mealtimes on her orders.  She criticized his every misstep with unnecessary smugness.  He had done everything in his power to make up for his tardiness and his illness: he made sure he was punctual, perfectly dressed, that his speech was prim.  He did not spend time gossiping like Miss Yang and Phichit did, which Lilia found distasteful.  He was industrious, turned in an embroidery hoop every three days, polished his boots, and embellished his bonnets nicely, but modestly.  He complimented the other guests and actors when appropriate and made sure to deflect every rude comment from Master Parcival with a contented smile.  He’d had enough.  In exchange for his help, Miss Yang had been letting him borrow dresses, and her small amount of makeup.  Every morning, they would take their toilette together, Miss Yang insisting that her maid help Yuuri as well.  The nicer dresses, with wider lace trims and more complex patterns seemed to make Madame Lilia sharpen her gaze towards him more often, and today was definitely not an exception.

 

Miss Yang was in the last throes of an awful rendition of “Robin Adair” which required her to reposition her hands on the piano keys and sigh like a struggling asthmatic every measure and a half.  Phichit was very busy inspecting his nails from his seat next to Yuuri as Madame Lilia cut Miss Yang off with a loud round of applause.

“Yes, yes, very nice, Miss Yang.  So much improvement.”  She let out a deep breath.  “Mr. Katsuki.  I suppose it would be remiss of me to forget you.”

“I suppose it would,” he snapped out, barely containing his anger.  He glanced across the back of the piano, Mr. Nicholson’s movement catching his eye.  He’d lowered his book to peer at his Aunt, but when he met Yuuri’s sight, he ducked back behind his book, which was obviously upside down.

Yuuri sat on the bench, pushing it out just a little, like Phichit had shown him.  He ignored the sheet music in front of him, instead launching into the chorus of one of the songs Phichit had taught him.

“I'm on some dumb shit, by the way, what he say? He can tell I ain't missing no meals—”

Phichit rocketed out of his seat to snap his fingers in the air and yell, “Yes, bitch!”

Miss Yang’s jaw dropped before she broke into a large smile, while Master Parcival gagged on his own tongue, and Madame Lilia spluttered with indignance.  Yuuri managed to get to the line, “he don't like 'em boney, he want something he can grab,” before Madame Lilia managed to stamp her foot and screech, “That is quite enough!”

Yuuri stood, bowed to her, gave her the fakest, most passive aggressive smile he had, and flounced out of the room.

~

They’re in the middle of a rousing game of croquet when Yuuri really starts feeling the panic he’s been putting off for the last three weeks rise.  Madame Lilia and Mr. Feltsman were busy attending to pressing matters within the manor, so it should have been a relaxing affair, but Yuuri’s panic had never been one for logic, and he found each clack of the mallet jarring.

“Captain Leroy and Miss Yang seem to be hitting it off pretty well, don’t you think?” Phichit asked, either unobservant of or unperturbed by Yuuri’s jitters.

“Hmm.”  Phichit was aware of Yuuri and Miss Yang’s agreement, had been in total favor of it, even if he mourned the loss of his own phone.  “We could have had a group chat!” he had complained.  “I haven’t had to text her in days.  I’ve been leaving my phone in my room again, just for security’s sake.”

“LeRoy isn’t still making passes at you, is he?”

“He was never making passes at me.  Master Parcival told me that he was supposed to pick one of us to woo for the ball at the end of the stay, just like I’m assuming Miss Bakewell and Mr. Nicholson are supposed to, so now he’s moved on to Miss Yang.”

“Oh, shit, really?”

“Yeah.  Honestly, the longer I stay here, the faker it seems.  The only good actors here are Miss Bakewell and Mr. Altin.  Chris has been loose-lipped since the beginning, and Master Parcival has been venting his frustrations since Madame Lilia told him he can’t hang out in the servants’ areas with Mr. Altin anymore.”

“What about Mr. Nicholson?”

“Pfft!  Phichit, we’ve been over this.”  He placed the ball of his foot on a ball and smacked it with his foot so the adjacent ball went rolling.  “Mr. Nicholson is only tolerable because of his dog.”

“You should be careful how loud you speak, and where,” came a deep voice from behind them.

“Jesus Christ!” Yuuri yelped.

“Just Chris is fine,” he smirked back at them.  “Have I really been that transparent?”

Yuuri and Phichit abandon their game to go to the fence Chris is leaning over.

“You told me in explicit detail about the last time you had sex with your boyfriend,” deadpanned Yuuri.

Chris shrugged.  “It made you laugh.”

“How could I not?  I still can’t believe you got…stuff,” he wiggled his fingers in distaste, “all over Catharine!”

“She was indignant for days.  I had to bribe her with wet food,” Chris sighed.  “Oh, look at that! Viktor is giving me dirty looks across the field.  Yoo-hoo!  Vitya!”  Sure enough, Mr. Nicholson was glaring from across the croquet field, so intently that he missed his ball with his next swing.  Supposedly finished with his game, Mr. Nicholson made his way over to their party.

“Chris!  You won’t tell him what I said, will you?”

“Yeah, Chris, don’t be a narc!” Phichit helped.

“Hmm.  Well I suppose I could be persuaded if you could smuggle out some pastries from breakfast tomorrow.  Yura’s been getting up early to hoard them, the brat.”

“Done,” Yuuri said, the same time Phichit laughed out, “I’m pretty sure Yuuri’s been the one eating them all!”

“Actually, I’m afraid I’ve been the one hoarding them.  Makkachin happens to love strawberry preserves,” Mr. Nicholson said to announce his presence.

“Well do us all a favor and stop!  I’ve been living off porridge and ham slices for the last week and a half!”

“You haven’t seen Makka’s begging face.  I can’t resist her.”

“She’s going to get fat and have a heart attack!” Chris argued.

“Hey,” interrupted Phichit, “as funny as all this is, what’s with the carriage?”

Everyone else on the field was already looking in the direction Phichit was pointing.

Chris scoffed, “I don’t know.  I haven’t been told about anyone going home.”

“Going home?”  Yuuri could feel his stomach drop into his feet.  He recognized the bags on the back of the carriage as his own.

Finally, the carriage stopped, and Madame Lilia and Mr. Feltsman stepped out.  The Madame looked quite pleased with herself.

“It is with great sadness in my heart that I must announce the early departure of one of our guests,” she said loudly, so her voice would reach Miss Yang and Miss Bakewell who were the furthest away.  “We have found unmentionable items in your quarters, Mr. Katsuki.  I believe I was clear on the rules.  I’m afraid you will have to leave.”

Ah.  Well.  Yuuri couldn’t say he hadn’t seen this coming.  He felt both numbness and a righteous anger at having his things gone through.  Although, at least if he left now, he’d be able to take his medication and go back to his normal, boring life as a dime-a-dozen, nine-to-five office worker.

He opened his mouth to say something.  What he was going to say didn’t matter though, because Phichit was pushing him aside.

“That phone is mine!  I-I! I felt guilty about sneaking it in so I gave to Yuuri so I wouldn’t get tempted to use it!”

Yuuri snapped his jaw closed.   Suddenly all the anxiety that he’d been pushing away broke through.  People were talking, but he couldn’t make out their words, and the only thing he could think was, “Not here, not here, oh _God_ , not here!”

“Mr. Katsuki, Mr. Katsuki!”  At some point, Mr. Nicholson had taken him by the shoulders.  “Are you there?”

“Hmm?  Yes, I…If you’ll excuse me.”  He didn’t notice Madame Lilia and Mr. Feltsman laying into Phichit, or Miss Yang’s beseeching look of concern, nor did he register the way Mr. Nicholson’s hands trailed after him as he stepped away.

Yuuri confined himself to his quarters for all of a day before his nervous energy forced him to the gymnasium.  He just.  He needed to move.  Maybe if he had a chance to throw himself into the Black Swan variation, he’d run off some of his nervous energy.  Probably not.  But he needed to be alone and he needed to move.  So, he stole into the gym as quietly as he could, paranoia telling him that someone was following him.

~

Viktor wasn’t proud of the fact that he was tailing Mr. Katsuki.  He hated the idea of spying.  But Yuuri was…so breathtaking when he danced.  Viktor knew very little of ballet, but he didn’t need to to see the grace in Mr. Katsuki’s fingertips or the patience in every turn.  The fact that he wore his tightest, shortest garments didn’t hurt either; the fact that this awful house had made a hint of calf tempting was not lost on Viktor.  But the best part about watching Mr. Katsuki was that His movement made Viktor want to take up pencil and paper again.  So, he did.  He had pages of Yuuri’s figure sweeping its arms, or lifting its leg, and more than a few polished drawings of Yuuri balancing on one leg.

So far, he had kept his prying eyes hidden by watching from the southside door, which Mr. Katsuki generally had his back towards.  Today was no different, except that Viktor was not aware that he _also_ had someone following him.  Not thirty seconds after flipping his sketch pad open, a hand came down on his shoulder.

“Viktor.  I’m not sure what you’re doing but it can’t be anything good.”  Lilia’s nails bit into his shoulder through the thick fabric of his waistcoat.

“I was just—

“Yes, what were you just?”  She put her eye to the crack in the door.  “Oh my.”

“I’ll just be going then—”  Viktor winced as Lilia’s grip tightened.

“Hmm.  He’s passable.  He holds too much tension in his jaw.  He needs to work on the extension of his foot.”  She pushed the door completely open, not bothering to let go of Viktor’s shoulder.  “Mr. Katuski, I know that you’re able to lift your leg higher than that.  _Battement_ with some resentment.  Like you mean it.”

Mr. Katsuki nearly jumped out of his pants.  “Madame Baron, I—”

“Unclench your jaw Mr. Katsuki.  Your form is good, but I won’t teach you if you’re grinding your teeth to dust.”

“T-Teach me? Mr. Nicholson?”

Viktor was not a fan of how Mr. Katsuki seemed to notice him only in addition to his aunt, but he was diffident to say anything.

“He was sketching you as you practiced.  But if he’s to truly capture your light, he needs to be closer, and more forthright.  Hiding in the shadows never did an artist any good.”

“Sketching me?!”

Lilia took the book from Viktor’s hands and thrust it in Mr. Katsuki’s direction.  Mr. Katsuki took it with a guarded look.  Viktor decided that looking at the marley floor was much more rewarding than seeing whatever kind of embarrassment he might have caused Mr. Katsuki.  The blood rushing in his ears muffled the sound of pages flapping over each other.

“H-How long have you been doing this?”  Yuuri’s tone was unreadable.

“A few days?”  Mr. Katsuki didn’t need to know about all the previous times, before he’d thought to bring his paper and pencils with him.

“Y-You’re very talented.”

“Thank you.  I-I’m sorry.”

“Uh, yeah.  It’s a little weird, ha.”

Viktor glanced up to see Mr. Katsuki stretching behind his ear bashfully.  “You’re just…you have this…You dance beautifully, and I-I didn’t want to disturb you, and then it had been going on so long that it would have been weird if I had revealed myself to you and I—”

Lilia cut him off with a pointed sigh.  “Viktor, you may stay and sketch during our lessons, so long as Mr. Katsuki consents.”

“O-Our lessons?”

“I may?”  Viktor swallowed hopefully but didn’t dare look at Yuuri.

“I guess it’s okay.  It’s, um, flattering, even if it is kind of weird.  I’m sorry, do you mean to teach me?” Yuuri said with a confused shake of his head.

“It would be a waste to have you here and not develop this particular talent.  Now.  Show me your _tour jeté_   again.  Those last attempts were pitiful.”

~

_My Dearest Yuuko,_

_Since my last letter, things have been…strange.  I almost got kicked off the property for having my phone, and now Madame Lilia is sitting in on my dance time to teach me?  And Mr. Nicholson has apparently been hiding and drawing me while I dance?  I don’t know, things are weird, I don’t know how all this happened, and I really, really wish I had my medication here.  Because!  Because!  That’s not even the weirdest shit to happen!! Today, after my dance lesson, Mr. Nicholson approached me and said he wanted to take me to the Grand Ball in two days.  It’s supposed to be the final celebration and send off for myself, Phichit, and Miss Yang.  I panicked again and said yes!  Why!  Why did I do that!  He’s just…He had these big eyes and I felt so bad for him, so I said yes!  But maybe I’m also kind of scared to go alone, because I know Miss Yang and Captain LeRoy are going together (more on that situation in a bit), and Phichit asked Miss Bakewell to go, even though she is terrifyingly gay.  He said something about gay-lesbian solidarity, I think.  But I’m also so mad that I said yes, because I know it’s not real, I know he’s just acting, and I know this is going to end right after the ball.  It’s like you said.  It’s so hard to forget that these people are actors sometimes.  I just.  I kind of just want to come home.  I’m tired.  I’m very tired of second guessing everything I’ve done and not knowing where I stand with these people.  I’m more excited to get on the plane and come home than I am for this stupid ball…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note, I will NOT be updating next week because I'll be out of town, and the last chapter is the one most in need of editing. The final chapter will be up on the 29th!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Izy originally requested this fanfic back in December of last year. I had estimated that the 3k words would take a month. I put all other fics on pause, but between almost not graduating, then graduating, then losing a family member, starting a 9-6 job, a bigbang, several conventions, the loss of another family member, a new 9-5 job, and several depressive episodes, I finally had…this. It was a joy every step of the way, from planning to editing. This is probably my favorite fic that I’ve worked on, ever, just because it’s such a fun light-hearted AU.

Yuuri, Phichit, and Miss Yang all got ready together the night of the Grand Ball.  Although, Yuuri ought to call her Isabella, since she’d insisted they were good friends now.  She shooed the maid out of her room, so they could all do each other’s toilettes and have what Isabella called “girl talk.”

“I feel bad because I’ve been so caught up in Jean-Jacques that I haven’t had time to really hang out with you guys recently,” she pouted.  Yuuri coughed, unsure of how to say she hadn’t made a point to hang out with them _before_ Captain LeRoy’s arrival either.  He figured Phichit had the same thoughts, given the rise of his eyebrows.

“Well, we can always keep in contact,” Phichit said as he gently shook her phone at her.  “I’m so glad you still have your phone, Izzy.  I was really sad I wasn’t going to have any pictures from this trip to post, but now I’ll at least have the pics from tonight!  When we’re all lookin’ our best!”

Yuuri, who was only in his small clothes and socks, ducked his head at that comment.

“Yuuri, what are you still doing undressed?”  Isabella stood, her petticoat unfolding itself from her legs.

“I, uh, I still don’t know if I should wear pants and a waistcoat or a dress.”

“Definitely a dress,” Phichit drawled, taking another selfie on Isabella’s phone.

“You didn’t get any nice corsets, right?” asked Isabella.  “You can borrow my shortstays if you want.  I’m using the corded corset they gave me.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”  Yuuri’s fingers twitched

“Yeah, I’ve had my maid put them on me so many times, I should be able to do it for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Ooh!  And wear this!”  Phichit snatched a dark blue satin gown out of Isabella’s closet.  “I have a pair of silver gloves that would match the neckline perfectly!”

“Would that be okay, Isabella?”

“Works fine for me!  I already have my dress all picked out.  Now hurry up and put on a chemise!”

After a few minutes of struggling with the stays and the dress, Phichit moved on to help Isabella while Yuuri got his jewelry in order.  Yuuri took a seat on the bed with a sigh.

“You alright, Yuuri?” Phichit glanced back at Yuuri from the mirror.

“Yeah, fine.  I just.  I don’t know.  I feel like this whole trip was a waste, you know?”

“What do you mean?” Isabella said with a furrowed brow.  “Didn’t you enjoy yourself here?”

“I mean of course I did, but between stressing out about the actors, and the food poisoning, and the lack of a television, I think I’m officially Regency-ed out.”

“What do you mean, ‘stressing about the actors’?” Isabella asked.

“You know, they’re just…pretending?  I don’t like that their entire roll here is to flatter us, and get close to us, and ask us out to the fancy ball, and I don’t know.  Pretend?”  He waved a gloved hand.  “It makes everything in my head that much harder to navigate.”

“Hmm.  I guess you’re right.  I never thought about it that way,” Isabella said.

“Sorry, sorry!  I don’t mean to be a downer on our last night!”

“No, no, you’re right,” Phichit mused, in the middle of fixing his cravat.  “What exactly were you looking for coming here Yuuri?”

“I-I don’t really know.  I guess I wanted this trip to reaffirm my love for this period.  Or maybe show myself that I could have survived back then.”

“Well then you should be happy then, right?  You proved you could survive it.”

“Yeah.  You’re right.”  His voice gave away his dissatisfaction.

“Not enough for you?” Isabella smiled.  “I don’t think you wanted to survive, Yuuri.  I think you wanted to flourish.”

Yuuri didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything else.

~

If Mr. Katsuki was trying to kill Viktor, he was doing a very good job of it.  Mr. Katsuki always had an ethereal quality about him, in Viktor’s humble opinion, but when he descended the stairs to meet Viktor in front of the ballroom doors, Viktor might as well have had a heart attack.  His words certainly sounded like he was in pain.

“I, uh, you, have—”

“Oh, Mr. Nicholson,” Mr. Katsuki said with a squint.  He must have been having trouble seeing without his spectacles.

“Pretty,” Viktor choked out.

“I’m sorry?”

“You look very pretty tonight!” Viktor tried to cover.

“Thank you,” Mr. Katsuki demurred.  “I like the pin you chose for your cravat.”

Viktor tried to look down at it, because he’d forgotten which pin he’d used, but it was impossible.  “Oh, yes, thank you.  Shall we go in?”  He must have been talking faster than usual, if Mr. Katsuki’s squint of confusion was anything to go by.  He pulled at his cravat as he opened the door, ushering Mr. Katsuki in.

“Oh wow,” he gasped.  “Who are all these people?”  There were guests lined up against the walls, exchanging words and hors d'oeuvres.  Mr. Katsuki’s eyes followed one woman as she wove her way around the marble pillars of the room and into the dancing chamber, where Viktor could hear the musicians playing a jig.

“Other actors,” Viktor said.  Yuuri’s look of wonder slipped into a contemplative glare.  “See, there’s Mr. Altin and Yura looking displeased as ever.”  That made Mr. Katsuki grin again.

“Such a shame you couldn’t bring Makkachin with you.  I’m sure she would have been very glad for the food.”

“Alas,” Viktor sighed, “I tried, but my good aunt denied me vehemently.”

Mr. Katsuki giggled, and Viktor felt his chest constrict.

“H-How about we get some food ourselves?”

“That sounds nice.”

They ate in relative silence, picking finger-foods off the plates left on the banquet tables.  Mr. Katsuki made a joke about getting food poisoning a second time, which Viktor didn’t know how to respond to, and then they settled back into awkward silence.  Viktor couldn’t help but sneak glances at Mr. Katsuki every few moments.  He was wearing a very attractive white choker with blue gems set into the lace, a wonderfully blue gown with a square neckline.  He had pushed his hair back from his face and had a small pearl band keeping it in place, but there were a few errant hairs that were begging for Viktor to reach and smooth them back.

“Sh-Shall we go dance?”  Viktor took Mr. Katsuki’s hand when he nodded his assent, and they followed the sound of music and tapping feet.  They set themselves up as a quadrille began, and Viktor found that once again, an awkward silence made its home between them.  It continued through another line dance, but eventually, the musicians started a slow song, and the dancers began to break off into couples.  Viktor extended a hand.

“Could I have this dance as well, Mr. Katsuki?”  Viktor was practically vibrating with happiness when Mr. Katsuki took his hand and began leading them in a simple slow dance.

“You can call me Yuuri, you know.  I think we’re at that level now.

“You have been one surprise after another, Yuuri,” laughed Viktor.  Yuuri raised an eyebrow and slipped back into this Regency-period persona.

“I find surprises to be foolish. There isn’t any kind of increased pleasure, and the inconvenience is considerable,” Yuuri sighed, glancing over Viktor’s shoulder.

“Well, that seems a rather bland way of looking at it,” Viktor teased.

“I suppose it is.”

“You can call me Viktor, if you’d like,” he said with a grin.  Yuuri spun him around with a gentle flick of his arm.

“Is that even your real name?” Yuuri said, smug smile tinged with annoyance.

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, assuming you’re like all the other actors here, I’m assuming ‘Viktor’ is just a pseudonym.”

“Well, I assure you it is not.”

“Which is what you’ve been paid to say,” Yuuri sighed.  “It’s fine.  I understand.  You’re playing your part very well, Viktor.”

Viktor might have spun himself for joy, hearing his name on an angel’s lips, except that it was said so dismissively.  “Yuuri, I—”

“Have you seen Chris tonight?”  Yuuri’s grip on Viktor’s waist tightened ever so slightly.

“What’s wrong, Yuuri?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

At that, Viktor rolled his eyes.  “I haven’t seen Chris tonight, but I must say, having you inquire about another man is piquing my jealousy.”

“Okay,” Yuuri said, clipped.  “I just wanted to be able to say good bye.  He’s been a good friend during my time here.”

“I see,” Viktor smiled.  It hurt his pride, being so blatantly overlooked, but he could save this conversation.  He could.  He could contain his pettiness.  “Well, I’m sure he’ll be at the farewell breakfast tomorrow morning, with all the other actors.”

Yuuri opened his mouth, then closed it.  “Was he acting too?” he finally managed to get out.  Viktor cursed himself.  So much for containing his pettiness.

“Chris is incapable of being anything but his true and genuine self, unfortunately.”

“How do I know you’re not just saying that?” Yuuri accused.  He stepped back from Viktor, and Viktor had to stop himself from following him.  “Nothing else here is real.  Why would Chris be real?  God, I’ve been so stupid.”

“Yuuri—”

“I’m.  I’m done.  Good night.”

“Yuuri, wait!”  Viktor tried to follow Yuuri as he backed into a crowd of dancers, but only received an elbow to the stomach for his troubles.  He lost Yuuri in the gowns and white-clothed tables.  He caught a glimpse of blue silk as Yuuri escaped out the door they’d entered through, but there were just too many people between them for Viktor to bother chasing after him.  Instead, he fought his way back over to the tables and downed the first drink his hand landed on.

~

Yuur had packed, unpacked, and repacked.  Wasn’t like there was much to pack, considering most of his luggage had been confiscated at the beginning of the trip anyway.  That should have been a warning sign, God damn it.  He should have skipped the ball.  He should have been in bed hours ago.  He was going to miss his flight tomorrow.  He was such an idiot.  He was _such_ an idiot.  Viktor wasn’t his friend.  Chris wasn’t his friend.  Hell, for all he knew, Phichit was an actor too.  Lilia was probably laughing her diamond and pearl earrings off at that very moment.  Scam a desperate man out of his money and have a quick laugh.  God, he should have listened to Yuuko.  He refolded one of his embroidery samplers and shoved it back into place in his satchel.  He had stripped himself of that ridiculous dress and those gaudy accessories the moment he’d gotten back to his room.  Stupid.  He was such an idiot.  He began pacing.

He wasn’t an idiot, he forced himself to think.  He _wasn’t_.  He took a deep breath but kept walking in circles.  Yuuko had been right.  He knew she’d been right from the moment he met Lilia.  He’d just ignored how off everything had felt because he had anxiety, and everything always felt off, except for the fact that everything hadn’t felt off.  His short stay at the manor had felt so natural.  Like he was just on another vacation, but _more_ on vacation.

Okay, that didn’t make any sense.  He took another deep breath.  Phichit was his friend.  He knew Phichit was his friend.  There was no reason to think otherwise.  Phichit had saved his ass with that whole phone situation, and he didn’t think anyone could act like Phichit and not just…be that way.  Phichit was too nice.  Unless he wasn’t, Yuuri’s brain supplied traitorously.

No, Phichit was his friend.  Miss Yang was his friend too.  And Master Parcival, even if he was one of the actors, he was too authentically teenaged for him to be acting.  At the very least, Makkachin liked Yuuri.  Even if his owner was just pretending.  After all, Yuuri had made fun of and avoided Viktor at every opportunity.  Plus, Viktor was too…he was too…Ugh.  Yuuri didn’t know what Viktor was too much of, but there was no possible way someone like _him_ could have any interest in someone like Yuuri.  It just didn’t make sense!  With closed eyes, Yuuri finally took one last deep breath, moved his packed satchel from the bed, and burrowed himself under the covers.  He was not going to be late for his flight.  He was required to attend the farewell breakfast and a sort of debriefing meeting with Lilia before Chris would take him back to the airport.  He wouldn’t be late.

~

Lady Baron stared at him from across the table.  She looked sterner than usual, which was a surprise, considering her usual expression was displeased at best.  The cuckoo clock hanging on the wall ticked.  And ticked.  And ticked.  Yuuri thought back to his first visit to this cottage, wishing he had Phichit by his side again. The Madame blew out a long breath and finally began.

“You’ve been quite the vexing guest, Mr. Katsuki.”  She opened her hand over the papers in front of her.  “Between the tardiness, possession of a cellular device, and your insistence on getting close to my nephew, I can only imagine what you act like in the real world.”

“Excuse me?”  Of course, Yuuri hadn’t expected her to have a glowing opinion of him, but this was closer to his “worst case scenario” fantasies.

“You obviously have issues with boundaries, considering you used our gymnasium without permission, although I can overlook such a breach considering your talent.”

Yuuri had to shake his head in disbelief.  “You’re not very tactful, are you?”  Now it was her turn for a surprised blink.  “If anything, I should be the one criticizing you,” he forced himself to say.  He’d obviously already ruined The Madame’s view of him, might as well go out with a bang, right?  “I pay you money, good money, for you to criticize me at every turn, give me food poisoning, treat me like garbage for being late once, and oh, confiscating my anti-anxiety medication, which, by the way, is a crime!  I’ve been contemplating giving my lawyer a call, but I think you’ve just made my decision for me.”

“Wh—”

“And I’m not sure what you’ve got your breeches all in a twist regarding Mr. Nicholson.  I spent a good portion of my time avoiding him.  But give him my compliments.  He was a very good actor.”  Yuuri stood.  After forcefully tucking his chair in, he said, “I assume my bags are on the carriage?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then farewell, _Lilia_!”  Yuuri was halfway out the door before she’d even spoken.  He shot out of the cottage, barely looked at Chris as he reentered the carriage, and immediately began hyperventilating.  Chris must have understood Yuuri’s need to escape because the carriage lurched forward and started the long, plodding journey to the airport, Yuuri sitting alone with his thoughts which seemed to fill up the small space with each passing second.

~  
At the airportYuuri threw the carriage door open with a gasping breath.  Chris hooped off his perch and rounded on Yuuri.  “You don’t seem well.”

Yuuri glared up at him.  “Really?”

“Lilia is not what I’d call the most cordial of people.  She was a bitch to you during the debrief, wasn’t she?”

“Of course she was a bitch.  But she didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.  And you can drop the caring act now.  My stay is officially over once I set foot off the carriage, right?”  Yuuri let gravity pull him off the folding step.  “Well.  Officially over!”

“Act?  Yuuri, I’m not—”

“Don’t worry about my luggage, either!  I’ll take care of it!”  Yuuri passive aggressiveness was even astounding to himself at this point.  He snatched his things off the back of the carriage, refusing Chris’s help even when he struggled with the second buckle holding his luggage to the carriage boot.  Chris even followed him into the airport check in area, much to Yuuri’s annoyance.

“Good bye!  Great getting to know your character!  I’ll just be heading back to America now, where all those bloody wankers live!”

“I’m not even English!  You know that!”

Yuuri was about to say something about frogs when commotion from the glass doors they’d entered through caught his eye.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Chris groaned.

“Yuuri!”  Viktor, riding his horse, burst through the small crowd, looking both overdressed and mismatched.  “Yuuri, wait!”

“Are you fucking serious?” Yuuri muttered under his breath.  Viktor hopped off the horse and ran the remaining four yards to Yuuri.

“Yuuri, wait, I need to talk to you!”

“You can tell your aunt to relax.  I’m not going to talk to a lawyer.”

“What?  No, Yuuri I—”

“Can you two just leave me alone?  My stay is over. You can go back to the manor and forget I ever existed, okay?”

Viktor took Yuuri’s hands, to which Yuuri scrunched up his nose in distaste.  “That’s just the thing!  I can’t forget you!  You…you are so vibrant, Yuuri.”

“Is anyone else buying this?” Yuuri asked, bored.

“Just let him finish,” said Chris.

“You made this whole ordeal seem worth it.  I…I love you!”

Sighing, Yuuri finally managed to tug his hands out from Viktor’s grip.  “Okay.  Listen.”  He knocked his luggage over and stepped up on it.  “Attention, England!  I’m done!  It’s over!  I’ve had enough!  I’m declaring independence, and pretty-boy Darcy types with gray hair can fuck right off!”

“It’s platinum!” Viktor interjected, scandalized.  His horse snorted behind him.

“I’m gonna go pop a Xanax and pass the fuck out!  HA!”  Yuuri flipped the bird on both hands, then remembering he was still in England, he switched to the V’s.

Just at that moment, several airport agents and two Bobbies pushed through the crowd gathered to watch the drama unfold.  One was shouting about how you couldn’t have a bleedin’ horse inside the airport, for God’s sake, and another politely asked if the horse belonged to Viktor and Chris, which was comical, considering they were the only ones dressed in period clothes.  In the confusion, Yuuri hopped off his baggage and raced into security.  Thank God, he’d pre-checked between crippling waves numbness on the trip there.  He refused to even think anything until he’d gotten into seat 21F, sandwiched between an elderly woman and a frat boy with a backwards baseball cap.  He shook a pill out of its orange container and tossed it into the back of his throat, then let those sweet, sweet active ingredients whisk him off to dreamless sleep.

~

Yuuko had been perfectly quiet about the whole incident when he got back.  She helped him purge his tea cup collection (which made him a few hundred bucks to put back into his savings) and repaint some of his furniture so it wasn’t so obnoxiously 18th century.  Takeshi and the triplets were somewhat less understanding, and asked touchy questions during their weekly dinners together, but Yuuri managed to keep from snapping at them as best he could.

Yuuri was prepping for one of those dinners, the third since he’d been back, when he heard a knock on the door.

“Yuuko, you’re like an hour early.  Door’s open!” he called.  He took the rice out of the pantry.  If they were that early, he needed to get started, he reasoned.  “How’d your meeting with Sanjaya go?  I heard she wanted to move the discussion with Chacott back by a week.”

“Yuuri.”

Yuuri whipped his head around and fumbled with his bag of rice.  “What the hell!  Viktor?”

“Yuuri, I’m sorry.  I had to see you,” Viktor stepped forward from the doorway, to which Yuuri backed himself into the kitchen counter.

“How are you here?” he sputtered.  He hated how high his got on the last syllable.

“A plane,” Viktor laughed, his smile a bit desperate.  “I, uh, right!  You forgot this!” He rummaged around in the black messenger bag at his hip.  He pulled out an embroidery hoop.  Yuuri recognized it as one of his own, a few sprigs of bullion knot lillacs and a single lazy daisy, but it was hardly anything he had missed.

“You could have just mailed it, you know.  Speaking of which, how the hell do you know my address?”

“Ah, uh.  I might have done some digging in my Aunt’s files,” Viktor admitted.  He looked almost as nervous as Yuuri felt.  “And I-I wanted to make things right between us.”

“It’s fine Viktor.  I’ve already forgiven you.”  Yuuri dropped the bag of rice onto the counter and sighed

“For what?” he practically pleaded.  “For falling in love with you?  For making an absolute ass of myself?”

“You’re not helping yourself, you know.”

“I’m just.  I’m trying to understand, Yuuri.  Are you not attracted to me?  If that’s the case, I’ll leave, but I thought.  I thought you were my knight...in shining armor,” he almost sounded like he might cry.

“Why are you still acting?”

“Acting?  I was never an actor, Yuuri!  Lilia is _actually_ my aunt!  My name is _actually_ Viktor!  My last name isn’t Nicholson, but Aunt Lilia said Nikiforov wasn’t English enough so she changed it,” he admitted, “But I was never acting!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh for—!  Look!"  Viktor pulled out his phone and furiously typed.  He thrust his phone out for Yuuri to see.  On it was a faculty page for Lomonosov Moscow State University with a small headshot of Viktor.  “I teach Russian Literature at Lomonosov.  I specialize in the works of Dostoyevsky.”

“I—”

“Aunt Lilia thought I was getting too depressed surrounded by nothing but Crime and Punishment and young kids who couldn’t be bothered to read their syllabi, so she forced me out to the estate.”

“You’re Russian?”

Viktor spoke a few words in a slippery Slavic language. 

Yuuri bit his lip.  “Your English accent is really good.”

“My teachers were all English.”

“So you’re not—”

“I’m not an actor.”

“But you were the perfect Darcy-type.”

Vitkor’s brows furrowed in confusion.  “I’m not even sure what that means.”

“Mr. Darcy?  Pride and Prejudice?”

“Is that an Austen novel?”

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You really don’t know?”

Viktor shrugged.  Then his face lit up.  “Oh, I forgot!  Look!  I made you something!”  He reached back into his bag.  “Don’t laugh.  I know it’s not nearly as nice as anything you could make, but I, well, I’ve thought about you a lot since you left.”  If Yuuri didn’t know any better, he’d think Viktor was blushing.  He pulled out another embroidery hoop and shyly held it out to Yuuri.  Yuuri set down his own, as Lilia had put it, “uninspired” hoop to take Viktor’s.  It was a simple outline, black thread on white cloth, of a man in front _tendu_ , one hand on the _barre_.  As he looked it over, his fingers caught in the loose loops of floss on the back.  He flipped it over and almost laughed at how messy Viktor’s stitches had been.  Viktor, eager for any sort of reaction, began to speak again.

“You were just so inspiring and surprising, and I’m obviously a beginner at this whole handi-crafts thing, but I wanted you to see you how I see you, so I took one of the gestures I drew of your lessons with Lilia and tried to embroider it and honestly I don’t understand how you do it, it’s so time consuming and it’s hard!  I didn’t realize it’d be so hard!  And I—”

“Is this my handkerchief?”

“Ah, yes. Oh, I should have asked before I poked it full of holes, I wasn’t thinking, I’m so—"

“Viktor.”

“Yes?”

“I love it.  Thank you.”

“Oh. Uh, you’re welcome.”

“Would you like some tea?”

“I’d love some.”

“I have a friend and her family coming over for dinner in about an hour.”  Yuuri hesitated.  “You’re welcome to stay, if you’d like.”

“Oh.  Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t.  I think Yuuko would love to meet the mysterious Mr. Nicholson.  You can talk her ear off about sponge cake.”

Viktor had no good response to that, but gaped like a fish.  Yuuri laughed as he filled the kettle with water.

~

_Dear Yuuko,_

_You would not believe the changes Yura made to the Austenland property.  I know he said it was going to be a wildcat sanctuary, but this is more like a wildcat paradise.  The cats eat out of his hands.  Let me emphasize that. He gives them fresh meat with his_ bare _hands.  I’m pretty sure he’d kill someone for these cats.  In a way, I think Lilia getting called back to the Bolshoi was the best thing to happen for Yura and Viktor.  Viktor says she’s happier there too._

_The last year has been so crazy.  Between the first trip over here, to Viktor following me home, to Yura “inheriting” the land (I still don’t understand why they can just call it “receiving” the land!  It makes everyone outside the family think Lilia’s died!), to all the renovations, to Viktor moving to America, and now our visit back here.  It’s so crazy.  Last night I sat in bed for an hour just thinking about how this is my life now.  This is my life._

_Because.  Well.  I know I promised I’d wait until we were back home, but I couldn’t.  I proposed last night. On accident.  I don’t know, it just happened.  Viktor cried.  I cried.  Yura pretended to vomit.  I haven’t texted Phichit about it yet, but he’ll probably make a huge post about it on Instagram, so I’m hoping this letter gets to you before that happens._

_See you soon,_

_Yuuri_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts:
> 
> I had been tossing this AU around since YOI finished. I saw Austenland back when it premiered in US theaters and something about YOI made me think of it. Izy gave me the push to actually write it.
> 
> The working title of this fic was “Austen and Dostoyevsky.”
> 
> I spent my 2017 summer B term in France and England researching corsets and underwear from 1750-1850, so if you notice the specificity of undergarments, that’s why. Historical underwear (corsets in particular) are really cool, and as a seamstress I get so excited talking about them.
> 
> Related, the title, Shortstay(s) refers to a particularly interesting piece of historical underwear. Shortstays were a shorted version of previous corsets. They reached to the natural waist instead of down over the hips. They became somewhat popular in the Regency Period because dresses were not form-fitting past the bust and were somewhat more comfortable that other stays. They actually look a lot like today’s long-line bras, just without molded foam cups.
> 
> Have actually never read a Dostoyevsky novel, nor completed an Austen novel (I know, I’m a bad English major). I started P&P, but I only got about halfway through before I had to return the book to the library and just never got around to finishing it.
> 
> That being said! I have seen the 1995 PBS version of P&P several times and have on good authority that it is mostly accurate.
> 
> During my research for this fic, I learned, among other things, that apparently it was considered so rude for men to leave the dining room after dinner, that it was generally accepted for them to use chamber pots in the middle of a conversation in front of others, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
> 
> There are Austen and Dostoyevsky quotes tossed in throughout this fic. If you find a line that sounds extra Austen-y or Russian, it’s probably a quote from one of their letters or works.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, and if you have the time and funds, please watch Austenland! It's on Amazon for like $8 and its so good??? It's one of my fav movies, and I highly recommend it. I have another historical fic in the works, probably around 8-10k, that I will be posting around mid-October, and then it's back to work on Fondue and Drag Race!

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on my writing twitter (I'm trying to be more active lmao oops) [here](https://twitter.com/bastetwrites?lang=en)  
> Or my tumblr [here](https://bastetcg.tumblr.com)


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